Beyond Return
by Twisted SeeSaw
Summary: Troy goes over the edge, bringing a gun to school in an attempt to share with others the horrid world he inhabits. Will he be deemed unfit to stand trial, or face the possibilty of prison? What will East High do when thier star becomes their enemy?
1. Chapter 1

(A.N- This is going to be a pretty weird little story, and fairly out of character, well only for Troy. But I suppose it could be considered in character, because it isn't Troy really, it's Troy after pretty much going around the bend. Anyways, I don't own High School Musical, and all that nonsense, because if I did I would just kick Gabriella out of the whole thing... anyhow. Here we go!)

**Chapter One- Naive**

Troy Bolton bit his lip in excited anticipation, the cool metal of the gun on his palm. His expression grew to one of evident happiness, an expression that had become unfamiliar to his angelic young face in recent times. His hands were sweaty and nervous, shaking even. The feeling of the gun in them stopped that, doused in a sort of relief, the end was near. He clutched the weapon to his chest as did a child with a favorite stuffed animal, a comfort and security blanket against whatever harsh world existed outside the confines of his naive mind. He only wished he could be so naive.

But Troy Bolton had graduated from that phase, when he still believed the good in the world. He was over that. The boys breath became faster, what a rush it was to finally enact this, which he'd been planning for so very long. He had indeed graduated from his young mind, but not from his young body, he was still in his senior year at East High.

Whilst his classmates smiled at their prospects, just beginning the final chapter in their days as children, and all to eager to move on. Troy could relate, he wanted to get out to. A part of him though, wanted to stay in the almost utopian world of high school forever. Almost utopian. Perfect, except for one boy. Troy.

He knew his classmates were happy, they were glad to be american, glad to be in upper middle class families and thoroughly enjoying suburbia. They were eager to escape and become themselves. He himself found his own person to be stuck on the other side. While his friends explored the unrestrained future ahead of them, he felt everyone was telling him where to go, what to do, what to think, who to be. How to live.

That was what lead Troy Bolton to this very moment, on November the nineteenth. The day when everything would change. Gun clutched tightly against his bare and sweaty chest, barrel pointed at his neck. One might walk in on Troys smiling face, his body in this position, wondering when he would blow off his head and finally end it all. Suicide though, was the very last thing on Troys mind. On the contrary, he wanted the world to see the suffering he went through, and to finally empathize. Though he doubted empathy existed any more than the Tooth Fairy, if the world had managed to get itself into this position. Surely creatures capable of caring for others couldn't start wars, make bloodshed, kill a forever innocent child as the little one cried and begged not to do it. He was just going to have to do it himself, and create it.

The smiled still etched onto his dry and cracking lips, he pulled his shirt over his head, then zipped on his sweater. He was wearing bright colors today, if only so they would expect it even less. He chuckled to himself a little bit, his voice deeper than usual somewhat unfamiliar to even himself, as he got a look at himself in the large mirror over his mother's wardrobe. A huge mirror, that to him represented the vain, self centered and cruel perception of the world, he vowed to end it. He was chuckling though, because one couldn't see the gun in his pocket through the thick red fabric. Above the pocket, the Wildcat logo emblazoned his chest in a clean white shade, all the more suitable. What was more enthusiastic about his school pride than helping the students in learning what the real world was like.

He still smiled in a twisted sort of way as he exited his parent's bedroom, where his father kept the gun. How foolish were they to think that they could simply leave the weapon and a stockpile of bullets in their own house for "emergencies". He just wanted to day to them that in some places the police could be trusted enough that the population wasn't even allowed to have loaded weapons in their a child present too, he scoffed, they were quite naive themselves.

He didn't even flinch as he left the door, rounded the corner and almost bumped into his mother in the corridor. Even if she saw the lump in his pocket, she was much too dull to realize just how very disturbed Troy had become since beginning his last year of schooling. Much too blind to see past the cheerful, popular facade that he wore constantly. That was with the exception of at home, when the mask was removed. He spent hours after school filling countless notebooks with pages and pages of tiny writing, crude yet disturbingly accurate drawing of the things he would dream about. Dreams filled with blinding anger.

She kissed him on the cheek as he left for school, he smiled brightly at his mother. She felt proud, once again, that her son had turned out so perfectly. In almost every way he was, in his opinion, he was merely much better, much more enlightened that the rest of the world, they were simpletons, capable of evil and only evil.

Cool morning air swept through Troy's lungs, filling him with hope. He wanted to do this, get it done and not be shot down in the process. He had to walk twenty minutes to get to school, his father was the coach and therefor drove there every morning, taking only minutes. He constantly offered to drive Troy, because the boy had accepted the ride without question every day of the past three years, only this year had he opted to excuse himself, saying he was much too old to be driving there with dad. He could have driven himself, but he preferred the time he got to think in solitude.

Still deep in thought, his hand in his pocket gripping tightly to the gun, he arrived at the school, forced from his blissful thoughts by the bustle of activity around him. There were a lot of shouts and greetings "Hey Troy!" or "Morning Troy!", many of that sort. Everyone wanted to greet him. Not because they really knew him or enjoyed his company. He was merely an accessory to them, being seen chatting with the popular guy was a status symbol, they weren't greeting Troy Bolton, they were greeting smiling basketball guy with the good hair and the muscles and the swooning girls. He hated them.

In a particularly good mood this morning though, because of what he was about to do, he nodded and smiled patiently at each and every student who waved at him as he made his way towards his locker. Wearing his wildcats sweater, no one could see the secrets he held just beyond their view.

Chad nudged his best friend playfully on the arm "Excited for later?" he asked. He was of course referring to the game this evening.

Troy's eyes wondered off into the distance, a glint in them and a smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, man. Really excited!" he laughed a little too long to be normal, as if it was all some tremendous inside joke. He walked off towards his homeroom, leaving his friends behind, laughing. Troy muttered to no one in particular "Really, really... excited."

**What do you guys think? It's the first day of winter break, and this thought occurred to me as I was shoveling. I'll probably work on this as a bit of a project over the break, so expect a few more updates quite rapidly. I plan on taking this one pretty far, so I'm fairly excited. Please Review and Tell me what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two- Puddle**

His fingers gently stroked the gun in his pocket, no one around him seemed to notice. It was the middle of maths class, and the teacher had given up on trying to teach this crowd of hooligans anything, it was just before lunch and they were talking way too much. He'd simply set them a list of questions to do by tomorrow and left them be for the final half hour of class. Most were turned 'round in their seats talking, but by this point he didn't care anymore.

Troy doodled absentmindedly in his notebook, well aware that he, nor the other students, were likely to be doing any math by tomorrow's class. His left hand scribbled another body, he liked to draw the bodies and not their faces, as if to dehumanize them, laying on it's side in a puddle. In the soft graphite, on might assume the puddle was simply that, but to Troy, that puddle was of someone's blood. He smiled as he continued to do so, the gun metal having gotten hot from his constant touching, as well as the way he kept it against his chest, which was sweating with nervous excitement.

His fingers began to drum against the desk, the hands on the clock seemed to move ever so slowly through their final ten minutes within his sight. Around him the voices of his peers seemed to melt away, all that could be heard was the steady tick of the clock, and the heavy drum of his heart. His fingertip circled the circumference of the tip of the barrel, it seemed to beg for the bullet to escape it's confines. In his mind, he hushed it and told it not to worry, that it's time would come shortly.

The bell rang loudly through the halls, the sound reverberating in his ears. Chad asked if he was going to join them for lunch, he smiled politely up at his friend. " Yeah, I'll be there in a minuted. Just got to pee, that's all." he hurried of in the other direction, towards the bathrooms.

He sat on the toilet cross legged, his tongue stuck out in concentration. He gently unzipped the front pocket of his bag to reveal more than forty bullets. Most had been purchased from a store clerk who didn't bother to id him, or care to for that matter. Some though, had been stolen from his father, who worked at the school, so it would sting a little more, having a part in the whole thing. His father had a revolver, and Troy was grateful for it, glad that he wouldn't have to reload until he had fired six bullets. Plenty enough to accomplish his mission, or at the very least make a dent in their minds. He slowly pushed each into it's spot, smiling as he did the last one. He replaced the gun in his pocket, put on his rucksack and left the washroom.

There were a few stragglers left in the corridors, but he didn't care, as long as the majority of the student body was held in the cafeteria he would have a proper audience. The student around him became blurred shapes as he made his final turn into the lunchroom, his eyes on his primary targets only. The students were so relaxed for this, their final moment of every feeling so again.

The school had just this year placed a ban on leaving school grounds during lunch, and the teachers patrolled near the doorways to ensure this. It was all too perfect a set up. He lingered by the doors after entering the scene, when almost every student was at a table making conversation with friends, he bent down. His knuckles touched the shining white linoleum, soon it would be neither white nor shining, he gripped the gun in his left hand as he raised himself from the act of tying his shoe.

It happened so quickly, thought it felt much longer, much sweeter to Troy. He fired a single shot into the ceiling. The students were frozen in place, many had shrieked with fear, slowly they turned towards the source of the noise. There stood Troy, gun in hand, smile on his, pain in his unfamiliar cerulean eyes.

**So here's chapter two, the next chapter will be a bit longer, I promise you, these were merely to set up the emotion of the story. Much more plot will come to be in following chapters. On a side note, I'm canadian, I've never even seen a gun in real life, so my apologies if any of the stuff I'm writing is inaccurate. Please review if you so please! **


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